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I chuckle. They must be close.
“Okay, bye.” She hangs up with a loud scoff and twists around to drop her phone into her carry-on instead. She catches sight of me standing behind her and her lips twitch in acknowledgment. “That was my mom,” she says.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask.
“She calls a lot.”
“She must love you very much.”
“Doesn’t everybody’s?” she says with a shrug.
I don’t answer. She steps forward and hands her boarding pass to the employee. They give her a nod and she continues forward, swaying those tight hips as she beelines through the tunnel.
I hand off my boarding pass and take several deep breaths, willing for time to stretch for as long as possible before I absolutely have to get on this plane.
They hand my ticket back to me and I force myself forward. Before I reach the plane, I hear an excited squeal just ahead of me. One of the flight attendants greets Paige by name with a cheerful grin and she does the same, showing a wide, friendly smile. I’ve seen that smile so many times before just working around each other at the hotel.
She gave it to me once. It’d be nice to see it again over the next two weeks, but if last night is any sign... it’s not likely.
Paige finds our seats in first class near the front of the plane. I stow away my carry-on in the above compartment and I extend my hands for hers.
“I’ll get that for you,” I offer.
She hesitates, but only for a second, before giving me the bag. “Thanks,” she says with a bow as she takes her seat by the aisle.
I pause, nervously eying the open window by my seat. “Can I have the aisle seat?” I ask her.
Paige looks at the window with interest. “You don’t like the window?” she asks.
“Not particularly, no.”
She considers for a moment. “Well, if you really don’t want it...”
“I don’t want it.”
She hops up and settles into the window seat instead, looking pleased.
Good.
Might as well build up as many points as possible before doing what I’m about to do.
By the time I sit down, Paige has a file open on the tray table in front of her, along with a daily planner and several pens of various colors.
“I booked our rooms in Chicago,” she says as other passengers pile onto the plane. “We’re under the Bennett Party.”
“Rooms?” I ask.
“Yes, rooms. You thought we’d share?”
“... No.”
“Once we’re checked-in, we’ll get started. Chicago’s a big location, but if all goes well, we can be out of there tomorrow afternoon and get to New York, which will take days. Usually three since the restaurant alone takes an entire day, but we’ll worry about that when we get there.”
“Which rooms?”
She glances up. “Excuse me?” she asks, confused.
“Which rooms did you book?”
